Inevitable
by Kaira101
Summary: AU. Two-shot. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli begin their last hunting trip before Aragorn's crowning. They meet something they did not expect. Does that comfort you? T for violence and blood.
1. Chapter 1: Death

Inevitable

"An Elf stalking within the Glittering Caves! Such a statement no Dwarf dare believe. Aye, Legolas, you must prove my kin wrong else I owe them a sack of gold. Which I, might I add, am empty of!"

A melodious chuckle resounded from the Elf whose back was buried in Gimli's face. Arod, white hide shimmering in the sunlight, jostled the poor Dwarf senseless whilst Legolas remained firm and comfortable on the saddle. Gimli wondered if he should simply trot beside the blasted horse. Certainly the beast had been a great respite after days of running without end on their adventure. However, after many serene nights of rest in Gondor and a rather bruised rump, Gimli preferred to move his stiff legs and heal his aching backside. He disregarded the idea quickly, knowing well he'd slow Aragorn and Legolas down, who both were mounted onto their own brilliant steeds.

"And in return, young Gimli, you must accompany me to Fangorn Forest," came Legolas's reply, his voice as smooth as a stream. Gimli's lip twitched at the word 'young' the Elf had added upon his mighty name. "The trees are a sight to behold, much more than when Sauron's hand had drifted over the ancient woods."

"If you two could focus on the present," Aragorn hissed in aggravation, glaring at the two squished onto one horse, "perhaps we could finish our final hunt?"

"Certainly. My apologies, _Estel_," Legolas answered, no hint of regret in his voice.

Currently, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn were on a leisure hunting trip after the final battle at Mordor. With Aragorn's crowning close at hand, the trio had one final journey together before Aragorn was renounced as the King of Gondor, after which he would have no time to spend his days with his friends. Already they had gained good game to prepare a small feast, now strapped onto their saddles.

Gimli stared at the sun which began to sink behind the hills of some named plain that the Dwarf hadn't bothered to know. Long shadows were casted along the trees, an orange tint touching the remaining rays of light. The Dwarf glanced at Aragorn, whose eyes darted to locations unknown to Gimli. He vainly attempted to stifle a yawn that had unexpectedly come to him.

Legolas's sharp ears caught the sound nevertheless and called to Aragorn. "Aragorn. Mayhap we set camp for the day? The sun is lowering itself down to sleep as we speak. Night will soon be upon us."

Aragorn's eyes flashed with anger for a moment, startling both Dwarf and Elf. "Nonsense," he growled. "Night has yet to rise. We ride until it fully comes." Not waiting for a reply, the Man urged his horse to quicken his pace, leaving dust in his wake.

They both halted for a moment, stunned. "What," Gimli finally demanded, confusion as well as anger building in his stomach, "is wrong with him! From noon he has acted as such, and dare I say my patience is running thin."

The elf simply stared, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. His heels tapped Ador's flank, beckoning him to a gallop in attempt to reach the soon-to-be King of Gondor. Once they reached the Man, Aragorn intentionally stared ahead, ignoring the Elf and Dwarf's glances. Gimli now noticed that his dark eyes were laced with worry and apprehension, constantly darting towards the shadows.

Legolas gave an exasperated sigh before guiding Arod directly in front of Aragorn, whose steed abruptly halted and neighed in protest. Aragorn opened his mouth, but was cut off by the blonde Elf.

"Enough of this, Aragorn. You have been on edge the moment the sun began to sink. Tell us, what ails you?"

Aragorn glared at Legolas with such fury Gimli had never seen on the Man's face and the dwarf shifted uncomfortably. Legolas, seemingly unaffected by Aragorn's anger, matched his gaze perfectly, with perhaps a little more defiance. Gimli was surprised Aragorn dared to act as such towards the Elf. If there was one thing he learned from traveling with his Elven companion, it was to never behold a glaring contest with anElf.

For what felt like hours, grey eyes met sharp blue ones, unblinking and challenging the other. At last, Aragorn was the one to break contact, turning his head sharply whilst a rabbit bounded out of a bundle bushes. His breathing was rapid and unsteady, and Aragorn's gloved hands tightened on the horse's reigns. Legolas frowned and cautiously placed a delicate hand on the Man's shoulder. Aragorn jolted at the contact, returning his attention towards the Elf. His eyes softened once he saw Gimli and Legolas's faces painted with concern.

He heaved a great sigh before whispering in a faint tone, "Something is amiss. As we ride further from Gondor, I sense something that shall soon come upon us. Something that is no ally to Light."

Gimli frowned at the thought of it. "You mean to say something is hunting us?" he asked suspiciously. With the fall of Sauron, it was expected for a small troop of his army to be wandering the plains, homeless and leaderless. However, the Dwarf doubted for any ally of Sauron to be so foolish as to attack the King of Gondor, a mighty Dwarven warrior, and an Elvish Prince who were very much armed and attentive.

Aragorn shook his head slightly and answered, "Not hunting, at least not yet. I doubt that they have discovered us yet. However, I feel that there is some remaining evil dwelling close by."

Legolas's voice cut in and Gimli saw him nod in the corner of his eye. "Your senses have never failed us, _Estel, _and I do not expect them to lead us astray now. Perhaps we should turn back and finish our hunting trip." Gimli scowled, not wishing to end their journey many days in advance. Of course, he trusted Aragorn and knew it was foolish to continue hunting in this area, but he wished to spend every last second with his human friend. No doubt when the arrival of Aragorn had reached Gondor, he would be whisked off in preparation for his crowning. "Or," Legolas added with a glance at the disapproving dwarf, "we could alter our course and hunt elsewhere."

Aragorn paused, deep in thought, with his head bowed and grey eyes staring off into the distance. Gimli watched with anxious dark eyes. Then, with an approving grunt, the Man answered, "Very well. We ride west, towards Gondor, where we shall continue our hunting. We will travel a league before setting up camp."

Gimli smiled in delight, casually stroking his beard. Below him, Arod, led by Legolas, adjusted his course and sped off, followed closely by Aragorn. The sun by then rested behind the mountains, its head barely peaking off the rocky edges. The Dwarf could not see three yards ahead of him, but he trusted his Elven guide and his eyes to not misguide them.

His smile widened at the thought of a Dwarf trusting an Elf. Never had it been heard of, in the centuries of the Dwarves and Elves loathing each other, finding either insufferable to stand near, let alone travel with. Yet hear sat Gimli, riding a horse along with an Elf whose blood flowed with royalty. Surely the two friends were a sight to behold.

The Dwarf suddenly felt Arod leap, raising his front hooves high in the air with a great whiney. In danger of falling off the horse, Gimli clung onto Legolas desperately. "Legolas!" the Dwarf shouted over the great cry of the horse. "Control your blasted horse or I'll—"

A thin black blur soared inches over his nose with a high whistle, causing his voice to catch in the Dwarf's throat. It landed into the soil with a muffled _thunk _meters from where the trio rode. Squinting his eyes in the darkness, Gimli managed to shape out an arrow with black fletchings. His stomach lurched.

"_Yrch!_" Legolas cried, snapping his head towards a nearby hill. Gimli followed his gaze and watched as seven orcs emerged from the hill, crude bows in their massive hands. Without pause, Legolas leapt off Arod and strung his own bow with immortal speed. Three orcs fell before the Dwarf could retrieve his axe. Competition boiled in the Dwarf's blood, as it had done in every battle the two friends had faced. With a roar, Gimli slid off the white horse and charge the remaining orcs, swinging his axe in a deadly arc. Two were sliced in half, whilst the remaining pair sped past him.

"Oh no you don't, you lofty cowards!" he cried, swinging his axe at their legs. They toppled like crippled trees, screeching in their black tongue. Swiftly, he decapitated them, black blood tainting the ground. He released a triumphant cry, content with the knowledge that the Elf had befallen three '_yrch' _and Gimli four. He turned towards the Elf to gloat in his kill, only to find Legolas and Aragorn surrounded by a crowd of grey-skinned orcs who roared and spat, hungry for the taste of battle. So the orcs had reinforcements!

Gimli ran as swiftly as his stout legs were capable of, raising his axe in preparation for more bone-breaking and limb-hacking. He tore one beefy character's back, who howled in agony before death took him. Swinging his axe at another, the blade caught onto the arm of the orc, crippling it long enough for Gimli to crush its neck.

Ha ha! Six kills already! The Dwarf glanced at the Elf, suddenly disheartened once he noticed the bodies of ten at Legolas's feet. His Elvish swords were drawn, sprayed with the black blood of the retched orcs. Gimli watched in grudging awe at the Elf's swift, elegant, and equally deadly attacks, cutting down any orc that beheld the courage to face him.

Aragorn was faring well, skillfully swinging Anduril across the bulk of orcs, bringing fear to the orc opponents as their comrades died before them. Somehow the Dwarf's chest swelled with courage at the sight of him, and Gimli continued his massacre.

_Seven_, he counted as he dislodged his axe out of a grey chest. _Eight, _came the number in his head as he swung the head cleanly off an orc's shoulders. _Nine, ten, eleven! _The orc warriors were helpless at the hands of Gimli, his gloves stained with the blood of his enemy. As long as the trio remained alive, the Enemy would quake at the names of Man, Dwarf, and Elf. Gimli could not contain another roar of triumph as he swung his axe about him, slaying three more orcs simultaneously.

However, the Dwarf's victory was short-lived when he failed to calculate the length of his legs and the bulk of an orc, causing him to stumble over the body. He shouted in surprise and his beloved axe slipped out of his fingertips. He flinched as an orc charged over to him, sword raised, and waited for the inevitable.

The orc passed him without a single glance.

The Dwarf's jaw fell open as two more passed him without regard. Stunned, Gimli wondered if he was too short for the orcs to see. Nonsense it was, for at the battle at Helm's Deep, Gondor, and the Black Gate the orcs had always noticed him, yellow eyes flashing in fury and blood-thirst. He watched as a troupe of five pass him and this time Gimli watched them closely.

They did not rush towards Aragorn; in fact, none of the orcs regarded the soon-to-be King of Gondor as an opponent. Gimli's stomach gave another lurch when realization struck him. The orcs all focused their attacks onto the Elven Prince, who desperately held the group back.

The Dwarf's face grew crimson and his blood boiled in absolute fury. How _dare _they attack a friend of a Dwarf's! Fools they were to ignore a Dwarven warrior, and attack the Elf instead! Abruptly standing, recovering his axe and tightening his grip, the Dwarf charged into the fray, blocking their path towards Legolas and mercilessly hacking the mindless orcs.

He no longer counted how many he slaughtered; the only occupant in his mind was the determination to protect Legolas. At least fifty were upon them, and Gimli knew they would soon be overwhelmed. Their only chance was to flee. Hewing several more orcs, Gimli turned to Legolas to shout at him.

Brown eyes meet wide, pained blue. The Elf stared at Gimli with shock—

-an orchish blade prodding from his chest.


	2. Chapter 2: Numb

Aragorn could not be frightened easily. In battle, he never faltered when an orc seemingly emerged directly in front of his nose, its roars leaving his ears ringing and wafting the orc's hellish breath in his nostrils. Sauron's Eye staring into his soul left him concerned, but not frightened. Even Legolas, with all his stealth, had once attempted to catch the Man off-guard by leaping from a tree and landing abruptly in front of him ("That was not childish, Aragorn. It was simply an experiment.").

However, nothing had ever frightened him more than the inhuman howl that pierced into the night's air, echoing through the plains and reaching the city of Gondor. The screech rivaled that of the Nazgul, horrifying and sending shivers up the Man's spine. Never had he heard a more mortifying yet sorrowful cry.

Aragorn's heart hammered against his chest once he realized the scream belonged to none other than Gimli. The orcs halted at the sound, petrified. Then, as if they had never attacked the trio in first place, fled without a glance behind their massive shoulders. Stunned and adrenaline still rushing in his veins, Aragorn's befuddled mind considered to pursue the orc party. He glanced at Gimli and the bleeding Legolas then back at the party.

He froze. His mind began to process what it had seen. What was it again? Gimli and the _bleeding _Legolas. _By the Valar, please do not let it be so._

Dread filled his body, chilling his bones and slowing his actions. He turned is head again towards his comrades, praying that the sight only was an illusion. But there, amongst a sea of pale carcasses, lay Legolas, pale and trembling uncontrollably. Gimli knelt beside him, hand pressed against the Elf's chest, blood spilling through his fingers. The Dwarf's face was devoid of any color except a shade of green, and his eyes, wide and unblinking, stared at the Elf.

Aragorn opened his mouth to shout, to scream for help, but only a gasped escaped his lips. His legs moved on their own accord and the Man found himself kneeling on the other side of Legolas. The glossy blue eyes of the Elf stared at him, filled only with agony and sorrow. Aragorn's heart dropped to his feet.

Aragorn's mind was spinning, his cheeks frozen and ears buzzing. For the life of him, Aragorn could not remember what to do as he stared into his friend's distressed eyes. Yet, somehow, the Valar had seized his body and forced it to work.

"Gimli," the Man croaked, snapping the Dwarf out of his shocked state. "Remove your hand." The dwarf stared at him in horror as if he had been asked to sever the Elf's lifeline. "I must examine the wound," Aragorn explained softly, fearing the Dwarf to snap.

Gimli slowly, almost reluctantly, removed his gloved hand now seeped in blood—most of which was not orchish, Aragorn thought numbly. Blood immediately pooled from the wound and Legolas's face paled accordingly.

As Aragorn began to inspect the sword-wound, Gimli clutched the Elf's quivering wrist and hissed to Legolas, "Do not lose your grip, Elf." Wise thought, Aragorn speculated, for the Dwarf could remain assured that Legolas was alive so long as his grip held true.

Terror surged through Aragorn's veins once he finished inspecting the wound. The orc had pierced a lung, breaking several ribs. It was not surprising seeing as the orc had skewered the Elf clean through, but that did nothing to comfort him. Aragorn could not heal a wound of this magnitude. Despair followed dread once the Man realized he could to nothing to mend his Elven friend.

"T-that devastating, hmm?" Legolas's raspy voice cut through his thoughts. Aragorn stared at the Elf, horrified at the weakness and the pain laced in his voice.

"I-it is not that bad," Aragorn lied, knowing full well the Elf could not be fooled. A lump began to form at his throat as desperately as the Man tried to ignore it.

The Elf frowned, blood spilling from his lips. "I see," he croaked. His blue eyes suddenly widened and he began to cough, a horrid sound especially with the use of one damaged lung. Bright red blood spray from his lips, and Aragorn panicked.

"Raise him!" the Man cried to Gimli, fearful the Elf might choke on his own blood. The Dwarf hastily did as he was commanded, eyes riddled with worry and fear.

"Legolas!" Gimli roared hysterically, fat tears spilling over his cheeks and soaking his beard.

The Elf replied with a weak groan, and when he opened his eyes again, a dullness clung to the blue orbs that Aragorn had seen many times in the eyes of dying soldiers.

"C-calm yourself, G-Gimli. I shall not die without a-a fight," Legolas whispered, blinking rapidly. The Elf's words fell on deaf ears, for Gimli look none the more reassured.

The Elf's breathing grew rapid and unsteady and Aragorn could do nothing to prevent it. His throat was burning and his mind became numb, staring at the weakened Elf before him. Hopelessness came upon him and one sentence haunted his mind. _I failed. _

Legolas watched Aragorn through hazy eyes, before murmuring in his own native tongue, "_Aragorn, son of Arathorn, do not let such doubts cloud your mind._" Grey eyes rested upon the pale face, now looking disturbingly peaceful. "_Death is inevitable_." Ah, there was that annoying wisdom the aged Elf always held on such devastating occasions. "_As I have heard from a wise wizard, I am simply beginning my next journey in death_." Legolas gave a soft, gurgled laugh, his eyes still filled with pain but filled with a second emotion: peace. It was unnerving yet calming at the same time. The confusion made Aragorn sick.

The Elf gave a few more spastic coughs, his hands deathly cold, before his body stilled and sank like a limp rag doll. His half-lidded lifeless blue eyes stared into the blackened sky, accepting their fate.

It had all happened so fast, Aragorn could only remain crouched, stiff as a statue as he awaited the rise and fall of the Elf's chest. As the minutes grew by without a breath from the blonde Elf, Aragorn's mind grew dark and hazy.

The snap of a stick roused the Man out of his stunned state and he saw no Gimli holding the Elf's body. The orc carcasses' stench was the first sense his brain processed, and he quickly turned to expel his stomach. The red sun peeked over the mountains, illuminating the plain in an eerie crimson hue, resembling blood. Aragorn suddenly realized he had remained still for at least four hours.

Powerful, if yet slow, footsteps neared him and Aragorn turned to see Gimli, covered in gore and a solemn look on his face, drop his axe which was covered in an equal amount of black blood.

Surprisingly, Aragorn found his voice and asked, "Where did you go?" His voice was not his own, so hoarse and dead.

Gimli didn't reply immediately, walking over to the dead Elf's body and gently lifting it up. Aragorn realized Gimli had arranged the Elf's body accordingly to a proper burial position, and Aragorn was tempted to vomit once again.

"I killed them," the Dwarf replied bluntly, strutting towards Arod who was tied to a nearby tree. "All of them."

Them? As Aragorn eyes focused and gazed at the carnage before him, he finally realized that 'them' were the remaining orcs. Surprise should have followed, but his dull body refused to respond to any emotion.

"There were at least fifty of them," Aragorn replied as a matter-of-factly, his half-lidded eyes watching Gimli devoid of interest.

"Yes," came the Dwarf's answer. Heaving Legolas's limp body onto Arod, Gimli strapped the Elf securely onto the horse's saddle, who nuzzled Legolas's hair. Arod's motions were sluggish, as if the horse sensed its master's demise and now mourned quietly. Aragorn's horse, Hasufel, was nowhere to be found.

Gimli did not mount the horse; instead he held onto Arod's reins and retrieved his axe, not bothering to clean it.

He watched as Gimli began to guide the horse away, the red sun glaring off of his pelt.

"Where are you going?" Aragorn asked, beginning to stand. His knees groaned in protest, burning like fire. He stumbled and threw his hand into the air to catch himself. His hand touched something warm and soft. The Man turned to see Hasufel staring intently at him. He could have smiled, but with Legolas gone, all mirth had drained from the Man, as well as all other emotions.

"Mirkwood," Gimli replied, his growling voice thick with sorrow.

"Why?"

"For burial."

The answer was so blunt and sudden that Aragorn froze, his throat tightening. His head began to buzz again, and he tightened his grip on Hasufel to keep from fainting. "Burial?" he repeated.

"Yes."

Aragorn knew it would be wiser to ride to Gondor to recover themselves and send a messenger to King Thranduil to retrieve Legolas's body. However, the Man wished not to face his subjects now, looking as devastated as he was. Nevertheless, Mirkwood still held dangers, including the Elves' mistrust towards Dwarves. If the wood Elves saw Gimli with a deceased Elven Prince on the back of a horse, they could suspect the Dwarf as the murderer. So, he asked with a frank question, "What if the Elves think you an enemy and smite you?"

"Then they rid me of the responsibility of doing it myself." Gimli's voice came as a whisper, raspy and miserable.

Aragorn watched as the Dwarf walked on, trapped in heartrending trance. Sluggishly mounting his horse, Aragorn followed, finally deciding to guard both Dwarf and fallen Elf, although knowing in his numb state he wouldn't be of much use. Perhaps, when Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, captured them, he would see the guilt in their eyes and decide to release them, wishing naught for the gloom to reach his people.

And so the two traveled, crimson sun scorching their backs as punishment, their minds filled with Legolas's echoing statement.

"_A red sun rises. Blood has been spilt this night."_


End file.
